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Summer

Six months ago…

In the summertime, when the weather is high.

You can stretch right up and touch the sky.

Stepping into the kitchen, the small speaker blares with the upbeat tune. Rubbing my eyes and yawning, I look to the coffee machine, which is now beeping at me, confirming the coffee is ready. The rich aroma filling the room, I deeply inhale before reaching for two cups and pouring generous measures in each. I find my body beginning to sway to the tune, my head bopping to the punchy beat.

If her daddy’s rich, take her out for a meal.

If her daddy’s poor, just do what you feel.

Speed along the lane, do a ton or a ton and twenty-five.

With the fresh mug in my hand, I turn to see my dad’s bedroom door is open. If the music is playing, it’s telling me he’s already awake. Pouring a dash of creamer and adding some sugar, I step towards the room. Reaching the doorframe, I lean in slightly, spotting the closet doors wide open, I see a shadow moving between the slats in the door.

“Hey, Dad, I got you some coffee.”

I say loud enough for him to hear me back there.

I watch as his silhouette jumps slightly and begins hurrying himself in the corner on the walk in. As he steps out, appearing somewhat flustered, he’s wearing a casual light blue button-down shirt teamed with dark denim jeans and tanned loafers.

“Everything OK?”

I ask curiously, passing him the hot coffee.

When his smile doesn’t quite meet his eyes, he looks away for a moment and I can tell something is up. Nothing bothers my dad, so when anything is out of character for him, I can see it a mile off.

“Yeah, kiddo, just trying to find an old jacket.”

He shrugs.

“Old jacket?” I ask.

“Yeah, I need it for a dinner next week, but maybe I left it at the dry cleaners.”

The comment is unusual, but I slowly nod. I don’t believe the odd statement and neither does my dad. Our eyes lock into a strange understanding, to not push the conversation further, well not for now anyway.

“What’s the song playing?”

I change the subject as it begins to end.

My dad raises a brow to me, a questioning look in which he’s implying I’ve grown another head.

“It’s Mungo Jerry.”

He speaks matter of factly. “Summertime?”

He leans in a little closer.

Like I should know who they are, my brows knit and I shrug. The confused look still plastered across my face.

“Sorry, no idea.”

“It’s the greatest summer song ever, how can you not know it?”

“I don’t think I’ve heard it before.”

A disappointed look flashes through my dad’s face and a sad smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. He visibly deflates, but the look is incredibly sad, and something tells me it’s not just about a song.

“What is it?”

I ask quietly, studying his expression.

“I play that song all the time, but I realise now that you haven’t been around.”

He looks away for a moment, before turning back to me. “I’m not blaming you, just sometimes it hits me how much of your growing up I’ve missed.”

I feel my heart crack a little at the comment, not because it’s harsh but because it’s true. I’m nearly twenty-four and for the past fifteen years I’ve seen my dad maybe three times a year. Due to his wealth it’s a lot easier to fly across to see him or head off on fun vacations but that’s not the point he’s making. He’s missed on the small things and sometimes they’re what matters most. Placing my coffee onto the side, I pull my dad in for a tight hug. Resting my head on to his shoulder, I glance out of the bedroom window, seeing a flicker of movement in the window of the building opposite. I lift my head inspecting closer, but after blinking a couple times, there’s nothing there.

“What is it?”

he asks, placing his hand onto my shoulders.

“Nothing.”

I feign a smile and turn back towards dad. “So, what’s your plans once I head back?”

I ask whilst we begin walking back towards the kitchen, where I top up my coffee and his. Taking a seat at the marble breakfast bar, Dad takes a sip before answering.

“I’m getting the security system updated this weekend, some friends are coming over to help install it all.”

“Security? Is everything OK?”

I ask, eyeing him curiously.

“Yeah, the system I have now is outdated and you can never be too careful in New York. Decided to get rid of the keys and opt for a pin-code locking system for the door.”

His forced smile is obvious, and I find myself just staring at him, unsure whether to press further. I nod, glancing towards the front door but choose to ignore the strange feeling that’s descending over me.

“You have friends?”

I quirk a brow with a sarcastic smile.

My dad erupts into laughter, placing his cup down onto the marble. His bright blue eyes gleaming with humour and amusement. It’s the first time in a while I’ve seen a genuine smile, and it feels good.

“Yes, Summer, I have friends. James is heading over to walk me through the system along with a couple others for a drink or two.”

“You can hardly call your lawyer a friend, you pay him.” I quip.

“He wasn’t always my lawyer; we were friends before he started handling aspects of my business.”

“Maybe so, but you pay him.”

I shrug, shooting a sarcastic look his way.

A vacant look appears across my dad’s face, in my heart I know I was just making a joke but the cheery look he had a moment ago disappears almost instantly, replaced with an unmistakable sadness, my brows pinch but he sees this and shakes himself out of his trance.

“Sometimes friends fall together in odd times, and I guess it was a time when James and I could have each done with a friend.”

He offers me a genuine heartfelt smile and I feel that emotion. It’s not something I can comment on at the moment, any friends I did have are now living their lives and carrying on without me. I’ve been with Harry for some time now and he had me cut off a lot of people I cared about, but he still allows me to see my dad without much fuss and my dad still isn’t aware of him yet. He never argues if I’m going to visit my dad and part of me wonders if he’s scared of him because if it was anyone else, he would raise hell and likely raise a hand towards me.

I’m trapped in a downward spiral and if I ask for help, Dad will gladly give it to me without question. But I don’t feel I’m worthy of help, I’ve allowed myself to fall into this sinking pit and no one should be dragged along with me. This is my punishment for being weak and only I can help myself. Taking a sip of my coffee, my eyes wander towards the large clock in the kitchen. I have only three days left in New York before I head back to my own living hell. I look to my dad who appears deep in thought also, neither of us are being honest with each other and I’m scared.